Love’s Cruelty
by phantomphangrl
Summary: The story of Erik, Christine and Raoul. Retelling up until the graveyard scene, then it takes a new turn. Kay/Leroux/ALW
1. Chapter 1: Lessons

_**Author's Note - After almost 7 years of reading poto fiction I thought I should at least attempt to give back, so this is my first piece. It will start as a retelling but I plan on changing the end quite a bit. I'm not promising a happy ending though. It will be influenced by Kay's novel, Leroux's novel and ALW's musical. Feedback would be awesome! Thanks for reading **_

Chapter 1: The Lessons

I would never have imagined how my voice could reach such extraordinary heights in a matter of weeks. The gift I had all but destroyed in the past three years, since my father's death, had sprung back to life, like a dormant flower finally breathing in the warm spring air. I felt alive again! I felt like I had just made it through the winter. I was finally ready to accept a little happiness back into my life. The speed at which my voice recovered from my cruel neglect was truly amazing; however the circumstances were far more astonishing.

Only two weeks ago I was still that shy outcast, surrounded by a cloud of depression. My daily routine had become very monotonous, but I didn't care. My only thoughts were of the tragic loss of my dear father and with it the disappearance of our music, my childhood and its beautiful illusions. As sad as I was, I always did my best to put on a smile for everyone, especially Madam Giry. She had become my guardian after father's death, and being a ballet mistress at the most famous theater in Europe, as well as a mother to my closest friend, Meg, I did my best not to burden her with my grief. She had done so much for me over the years.

Three years. Three years with little hope or happiness, and I continued to waste my youth. I tried not to think about the future much, my income was small, but at least I had one. I would not be able to dance in the Paris Opera ballet for long. It takes a toll, even on young bodies. The future terrified me and did little to improve my depressed state. So I just sat and waited for the light at the end of the tunnel. Until I actually saw it.

Two weeks ago I heard the voice for the first time. I was the most beautiful, angelic sound I had ever heard...

* * *

_When it first spoke my name I fell to my knees in shocked awe. My eyes search heavenward to find its source. I know that this is the voice o__**f an**__ angel. It certainly could not belong to any earthy being. My awe changes to confusion with the voice's next words. _

"_Why do you waste your gift? You posses the voice of an angel, yet you remain silent! A terrible sin in this temple of music!" the voice took on a new tone, almost parental and clearly not pleased. I remain on my knees in the center of my small dressing room. In my confusion the only thought that seems to surface above the rest is how odd it is that he could possibly claim that _I_ had the voice of an angel, when clearly it is _he_ who was the heavenly being. _

_The voice continued, "Your father would not be pleased to know how you have neglected music for so long. How many years? How long since you last lifted your voice in song, Christine?" The moment he spoke of my father I gasped and rose to my feet. _

"_How do you know my father? Are you an angel? You must be!" I frantically ask still searching for the source of the voice. _

"_I will be your angel of music. I would like to help you, if you will agree, to repair your voice to its former glory, as well as take it to new heights. You will soon enchant the Paris, and the world. I will teach you. All I ask is that you agree to follow my rules and devote yourself to music. Will you agree to this? To sacrifice everything else for music, the very thing your father lived for?" _

_Throughout his speech I was unsure about what he was asking of me. It did not seem like a good idea to promise to devote myself to a teacher (even if he was an angel) who I had only just heard from, and never seen. However, the moment he mentioned my father I knew I had to agree, I owed it to him. He spent years patiently teaching me everything he knew about music. How could I not let his passion live on? _

"_Yes… yes, of course. I want nothing more. I want to be able to sing again. I want to make him proud." I reply, partially lost in happy memories. _

"_Very well. We will begin tomorrow evening, meet me here at seven for your first lesson. We will meet every other evening after that at the same time. Be sure that you are never late. Remember you have devoted yourself to music." I frantically try to focus on what he was telling me through my surge of hope and happiness. It would not be wise to ruin this opportunity. I know that what he offered me was something special. I knew he could help me like no one else could. _

* * *

Since then we have both kept our promises. We meet every other day at seven pm in my little dressing room. I still have not seen him but I hear his heavenly voice many times a week. Everything is becoming so perfect. My life is turning around at last, and I can finally see some hope in the future.


	2. Chapter 2:Stardust,Spangles and Memories

**Chapter 2: Stardust, Spangles and Memories **

I could live quite happily in this opera house for the rest of my sad life without ever leaving. However, I have accepted that I have ties to the outside world that I will never be able to completely eliminate.

I am very fond of my 'sanctuary of music' that I have made my home in. My domain lies safely nestled within the vaults of the opera house. I have never felt safer, or more at home than I have in this beautiful building I helped create.

Such wonderful living conditions come with a cost of course. To protect my home, I have taken on the job of 'Opera Ghost'. It is not very time consuming, but necessary, in order to preserve my privacy. The job certainly has its benefits. Not only am I paid a generous salary, but the best seats in the house, box 5, are reserved for my personal use. After my years in Persia and my horrible childhood amongst the gypsies, I finally able to relax, try to forget and devote myself to the one thing that has always been there for me and never turned its back on me or rejected me, music.

Music was what I lived for, it consumed me, and nothing else mattered.

* * *

When I recognized her as she was running through the halls of the opera house, her father's violin cradled in her arms, I knew I had to help her. With her voice she could easily be Prima Donna. She will be a great star and I will teach her everything about music. I will share with her my treasured music of the night and she will astonish the world. I have been searching for a voice like hers for years, and there is not a soul on earth that has the potential she has. It is buried beneath doubt and neglect, but together we will bring uncover her beautiful voice again.

I can still remember the very first time I heard her sing, eight years ago…

_The traveling fair was coming through, stopping just outside Paris and drawing in spectators from all over. These immoral nomads brought with them many oddities to exploit and feed their never-ending lust for wealth. With no country and no one to answer to they were known for being deceitful and dishonest. Their wagons were covered with pictures of the oddities they carried, praying on the curiosity of their customers. They promised a psychic woman, a fire eater, a tiger, among other things. I wondered if one of these once advertized the terrifying, 'Devil's Child'. _

_I had not been to a fair since my childhood. I am sure the same was true for many others who eagerly flocked to the tents and wagons scattered outside the city. However, I am quite certain that their memories were much more pleasant. If their experiences had been anything like mine they would not have been approaching the fair with excited smiles. They would be running in the other direction. _I _should be running in the other direction. I am not sure why I had come. _

_I had just completed the finishing touches on my new home in the opera house and I was out wandering the city alone. That is when I saw the signs and was drawn towards the tents and crowds. I never actually joined the large swarm of people, amazed at the strange sights before them. I remained in the shadows, covering my face and mask beneath my hat in a cloak of darkness. I lurked around, everyone too intrigued by the exhibits to notice the somber shadow among them. _

_It was as if I was looking straight into the past. I was not sure if this was the same Gypsy group I escaped from as a child, but memories surrounded me like a storm. I could see them as if they were happening right in front of me. I saw myself as boy of ten, crying on the floor of a dirty cage hidden away in an empty tent. I saw crowds of frightened and disgusted women and men. I saw my escape, when I finally could not take it anymore… _

_The memories hit me, like a rock to the chest. What was I doing? Why was I here? I did I want to relive the horrors of my past? I swiftly turned around and began to search for a way out of the maze of tents, wagons and people. Lost in thought, I had completely forgotten how I had entered. I flew from shadow to shadow with the grace and speed of a cat. My only thoughts were of getting out. _

_Then, somehow, something stopped me in my tracks. It took me a moment to realize what it was, but in a few seconds my confusion faded and I was able to focus on the beautiful sound coming from behind me. I spun around in shock. There, only about ten feet away, was a man playing a violin. I was shocked that a man with talent like this was traveling around performing for the amusement of whoever attended the fair, earning only a fraction of what he should. 'He should be working at the Opera,' I thought. I stood there listening to him for a few minutes, while a small crowd formed before the violinist and the young girl standing by his side. _

_My shock doubled when she opened her mouth and began to sing. _

_I could not believe my ears. For a moment I thought she was an angel from heaven. This young girl, who looked no older than ten, possessed the most astonishing instrument I had ever heard. I began to think of the possibilities for that voice, if only it had the proper training. It was beautiful. _

_The song ended much too soon for my liking, but I was relieved to hear the man tell the young girl that it was 'time to go home'. I was glad to hear that he took his music seriously and did not waste their talent in a traveling fair. _

_He packed up his instrument with great care, as if he were holding a child. When he finished he walked away with his violin case in one hand, and the little girl's hand in his other. _

"_Father? On our way home, can you tell me the story of the Angel of Music?" The little girl asked, looking up at him with pleading eyes. _

"_Christine," the man chuckled "You must have heard that story a hundred times already." _

"_I know, but it is my favorite! I want to hear it a hundred more times! It is such a pretty story. Please, father? Please?" the little Christine begged her father. _

"_Yes, of course, I will tell you the story" He agreed as he began his tale. "Little Lotte was a girl with a beautiful voice and a pure heart. She sang everyday and every night. Everyone was amazed at …" _

_Their voices faded into the distance as I stood there watching this tender scene unfold before me. As they disappeared I once again remembered where I was and, with less purpose and panic as before, I left the fair behind. _

_It only took me a few days to find them again. For months I would look for them, performing together on the street. I learned that the man's name was Gustave Daae, and the little girl was his daughter, Christine Daae. They were from Sweden, but left when his wife died. They have been moving from place to place ever since. It warmed my heart that had become cold through my tragic life. Their obvious love of music helped me forget, at least for a moment, the horror I had seen as a child and growing up, traveling around the world, and later in Persia. _

_However within a few months they disappeared. They left Paris completely. _

* * *

Christine had come to my Opera House. With her talent, she belonged here. However, I was saddened to hear of the loss of her father. Apparently he had died about two years ago, leaving his daughter alone in the world. His death is a great loss to the world of music.

I was also shocked to hear that instead of joining the chorus, Christine joined the ballet. She was not a great dancer but she was determined and worked hard, which was enough for her to get by. For days all I could do was think about how terrible it was that she is hiding her voice. I do not know why it bothered me so much. I usually did not think much of other people's affairs. I preferred to focus only on music.

That's when I realized that I had to teach her. I needed to use her voice for my music. Together we would amaze Paris. I would mold her voice to my music and I would finish my opera I had been working on for the past decade. I had never planned on giving any of my work to the public, but now it seemed right. All I needed now was to recruit Christine as my pupil.

I used my unique 'power of persuasion' to convince the dressing room coordinator to reassign the rooms. I had installed many trap doors and hidden entrances to my domain during the construction of the Opera House. All I needed was to move Christine to the last room, at the end of the hall. It was in that room that I had a two-way mirror that also worked as a door. From there I would be able to teach her as a voice and not frighten her away as the phantom.

My plans easily fell into place and I was finally able to contact her. She trusted me almost immediately, despite only being able to hear my voice. Every other night we meet in her dressing room and celebrate the beauty of music. I bring my violin and she sings for me.

I never saw myself as a teacher. I cannot imagine what she would think if she ever learned her mysterious tutor, was also the infamous Opera Ghost. I daresay our lessons would end quite abruptly. Such a disaster would no doubt end with her returning to her music-less existence. I don't think I could live with that guilt.

She calls me her 'Angel of Music'. This title shocked me at first, but now I see that without it she would have a much greater difficulty accepting help from a disembodied voice. I suppose it is an improvement from being known as the 'Angel of Death'. I think little of my horrid past in Persia now though. Things are just too perfect to stain with memories of the past.

* * *

**Let me know what you think so far. Thanks for reading!**


	3. Chapter 3: Life in the Opera House

**Chapter 3: Life in the Opera House **

'_Assemblé, pas de bourree, step 1, 2, 3,__cabriole, step, fourth, pirouette…' _

I desperately tried to remember all the steps, as my peers seemed to effortlessly glide across the stage. Chiffon skirts floated, as strong, trained feet carried them across the stage; each dancer knowing her place and how to arrive there. For a ballet dancer, there was no better employment than the Paris Opera House. Every dancer was focused and determined.

Dancing was not my strongest skill, but I practiced diligently, I had to have some sort of income and I preferred it to come from performing. Dancing was not signing, but with my angel's help, someday I would be in the chorus.

"Again! We will repeat this dance as many times as necessary. I want everyone to be together. Start over." Madame Giry's frustrated voice came thundering over the music.

'_Fifth position, __Échappé, Jeté, Changement…" _

* * *

"That is all for today. You may leave." Madame Giry announced as a hundred happy feet scampered away. Meg and I packed up our pink, satin, pointe shoes, and scurried off to get something to eat.

We ended up going to a small café only a few blocks away from the Opera House. There were a few other girls from the ballet who were there also, enjoying the opportunity to escape for a while.

The café was cozy and quaint. In the front there was a large window next to the front door, with the words 'Café Amarante' arched, in fading gold letters on the glass. Inside was warm and smelled like fresh bread. The tables and chairs where a bit mismatched, and the aged floral wallpaper was beginning to peel off in areas, but it had a very home-like atmosphere to it. It was my favorite café in Paris.

We found a table and ordered tea and soup and began chatting away about our day.

"I hope we will be ready in time for the show. I can believe it is only a few weeks away!" said Meg.

"Me too, I think I might be half a second late in the last combination." I said worried.

"You will do fine; we can practice a little tonight, if you think it might help."

"That sounds like a good idea. I would hate to embarrass myself on opening night!" I gave a nervous laugh. "Oh… wait, tonight is my music lesson. I completely forgot, what about tomorrow?"

"Your mysterious singing lessons? Are you sure that's what you are doing tonight?" Meg asked, trying to suppress a giggle.

"Yes, what else would I be doing?" I asked confused.

"Oh, Christine! I know a girl in love when I see one! I have never seen you so happy. You disappear every other night for singing lessons?" At this she was unable to hide a laugh. "It seems much more likely that you are out with a sweetheart. Tell me, what is his name?"

I gave an astonished gasp. "Meg! Don't be silly! I really do have singing lessons, like I told you. I assure you, I do not have a secret lover that I am hiding from you." I replied, shocked at her assumption.

"Really? Then what is your 'teacher's' name?" She asked skeptically.

"I… I don't know… I just call him… maestro" I said, uncomfortable about where the conversation was going. I highly doubt that she would have believed me had I told her he was the Angel of Music.

I nervously avoided eye contact with my friend and went back to eating my soup. Meg meanwhile was looking rather proud of herself for 'learning my secret'.

The café door opened a few moments later, and a cheerful Brigitte bounded inside. She was a fellow dancer at the Paris Opera, a very friendly and sociable girl. She looked around and saw Meg and me sitting in a booth near the window. She smiled and came to join us.

"Brigitte! You look very happy today! What is going on?" asked Meg, getting right to the point.

"Well, you remember that man who left me flowers after the last two shows?" We both nodded and waited for her to continue. She gave a happy bounce as she stood before our booth. "I went out to dinner with him last night. He was so sweet! We took his carriage to a little romantic restaurant nearby. It was wonderful! I just went to see him for some coffee after rehearsals today, and he gave me this!" She pulled a necklace out of her coat neck. It was a small gold heart locket, on a delicate gold chain. "Isn't it beautiful?" She started at it in bliss. Meg giggled and went to get a closer look.

"Yes, Brigitte! It is very beautiful. I'm so happy for you! Finding a wealthy opera patron to fall for! It must be the season for love!" She gave me a little accusing smile.

"Christine! Do have a sweetheart too? Is he an Opera patron? How did you meet him?" Brigitte questioned, seeing Meg's suspicious smile.

"Oh, no. Meg is just confused." I said, giving Meg a frustrated glare. "But I am very happy for you, Brigitte." I turned back to her and smiled.

"Well, I should head back to the Opera; Henri is taking me out to dinner again." She giggled and said goodbye, leaving Meg and I to finish eating.

"How lucky you two are, to find someone special." She teased. I responded with a frustrated sigh.

"Well if you are not in love, I hope you do find someone. It has been a long time since I have seen you truly happy." She said thoughtfully. "There must be enough wealthy opera patrons to go around."

We giggled and spent the rest of our lunch talking about the romance we were missing in our lives.

* * *

I was putting away my pens and letters at my small desk in my dressing room, when my clock chimed seven times. It was time for my lesson.

I looked around, waiting to hear his voice. He was never late.

"Good evening, Christine." His voice filled my little dressing room.

"Good evening, Maestro." I replied automatically. This was how all of our lessons began.

We began with the Jewel Song from Faust. He accompanied me on the violin. After several tries, we moved on to sing an aria from Othello and we finished with a song from Aida. I felt quite accomplished when we finished.

After the last song I gave a contented sigh and sat down on the chair at my desk.

"You have been improving." He said, approvingly. I smiled and my cheeks flushed. He rarely pays me compliments or remarks on my progress, apart from how much work we needed to do. I was glowing with pride.

"Thank you, Maestro." I said happily.

"You must get some rest now. You have rehearsals early in the morning."

"Maestro – wait… before you go, I-I would like to ask you something…" I said timidly.

"Of course, you may ask me anything, Christine." He replied gently.

"I just wanted to know… to ask you…" I started nervously, "What is your name?"

"Erik" He replied after a moment.

"Erik… just Erik? Do you have a last name?" I asked stupidly.

"No, just Erik." He replied.

"Good night, Erik." I said, as I began walking towards my bed.

"Good night, Christine."

* * *

_**Author's Note – Sorry about the long wait! I blame it on the holidays and exams. The next chapter will be better. Thank you for reading! I would love to hear from you! **_


	4. Chapter 4: The Opera Ghost

**Chapter 4: The Opera Ghost**

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* * *

  
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Another long rehearsal finally came to a close. I collapsed on floor and after a breath, began to take off my satin ballet slippers. I was completely worn out and ready to head back to my dressing room to get some rest before dinner, when Meg came over by me. Her shoes already neatly packed away in her bag. She did not look nearly as exhausted as I did.

"Christine, hurry up, we are all meeting in Sorelli's room." She rushed me to remove my pointe shoes and put on my practice shoes.

"But, Meg, I'm so tired after all that dancing. How about I meet up with you later tonight?" I asked trying to get out of what I knew would turn out to be a long night of gossip and horror stories.

"You must come with us Christine!" said Jammes coming over to help Meg. I looked up at them, giving them the most fatigued expression I could muster. "You rarely ever spend time with us. I promise you will have fun." Meg leaned forward to take my hand and pull me up from the floor.

"Alright, I suppose I can join you, for a little while…" I reluctantly agreed.

Meg gave a happy squeal and dragged me to the hall where three other girls were gathered, waiting for Meg and Jammes. I recognized all of them, there was Cecile, who was an outgoing brunette, about as old as Meg and I; Colette, a cocky older dancer with dark hair; and Sophie, a bit younger than Meg and I, and barely taller than little Jammes. We walked over to meet them as the chatted in the hall.

"Meg, there you are! We are still waiting for Brigitte and Sorelli." Colette informed us. "Christine is finally going to join us?" she asked, raising an eyebrow as she looked over at me. I nodded back, not knowing how else to respond. Meg gave me a reassuring smile.

"Alright, we are ready, let's go." Sorelli's voice came from behind us. The six of us turned to look at the lead dancer as she approached us. Brigitte followed her.

She led us down the winding halls of the Opera house. The building was truly spectacular. Every piece of it was beautifully decorated, from the floors to the ceiling. We scampered through the halls, all of us dressed in our white ballet uniforms, the chiffon of our skirts bouncing as we walked. I could hear the occasional giggle or whisper, I suddenly felt like I had missed out on so much, because I preferred to spend most of my free time alone. I felt like a guest among sisters.

We finally reached Sorelli's room, which was much larger than any of ours, because she was the lead dancer at the opera. She had a small sitting room, connected to a modest washroom and a bedroom. We all filed in the room and I followed their lead as they sat down on chairs, or the floor.

I found a place next to Meg on the floor as Cecile asked Brigitte about her admirer.

"He is such a gentleman! Always opening doors and bringing me flowers. I am in love with my dear Henri." She said, with a dreamy stare off into the distance. A few other girls gave a happy giggle.

Conversations about the opposite sex went on for, what seemed to me like, many hours. Meg did her best to try to include me, but I did not mind sitting and observing in silence. I almost felt sad, I never had a sweetheart, or anyone who was really interested, come and talk to me. Then I remembered how fortunate I was to have an angel teaching me how to sing, and I quickly swept away those feelings.

After almost an hour of this silly chatter, I was most grateful to Jammes for changing the subject.

"Sorelli, tell us what happened last night! You told me before rehearsals that you saw the Phantom! Tell us!" Jammes cheered her on as many other girls looked over to them in interest.

The Opera Ghost was infamous in the Opéra Garnier. According to rumors floating around the opera, he lived in the catacombs beneath the opera and only came up to wreak havoc on unsuspecting victims. Tales of horror were fueled by the ballet, stage hands, the chorus, and almost all opera employees, except for Madame Giry and the managers themselves. Almost everyone has had their own encounter with the Phantom of the Opera.

The girls all leaned in as she began her tale in a hushed voice. "I was walking back to my room last night, it was late, and Victor had just dropped me off after a lovely dinner. I could see a shadow coming from down the hall; I was walking towards me slowly. I did not know what to do, so I just stood there in the middle of the hall hoping it would leave."

She paused her story and looked around in delight at all of the horrified faces.

"Then what happened?" Cecile asked, as if frightened of the answer.

"Then he walked past me, I could see blood dripping from his hands, and the most frightening mask on his face. As he got closer I could see that in his hand he held a heart!" Several girls gasped and Little Jammes screamed.

"When he walked away, I was left alone in the hall again, except this time there was a trail of blood. I knew I could not sleep until I knew what happened, so I followed the trail. It did not take me far; I walked down the hall and around the corner. The blood seemed to come out of the wall; the last trace of it was on the wall paper. After I saw that no one was hurt, I went back to my room and lit all the lamps. I took me hours to fall asleep again!"

"But Sorelli, I did not see any blood in the hall this morning." said Colette, one of the braver girls.

"That's because he is the Opera Ghost! Of course he is going to cover his trail!" Sorelli snapped back at her.

Conversations sprang up between all the girls, each had their own ideas on what happened and what the Phantom was doing.

"You don't believe this nonsense, do you Meg?" I asked Meg, who was sitting next to me on the floor.

"Sorelli's story? No, but he really does exist Christine. You must be careful what you say about him, if you don't believe, he will make sure you do." Meg said to me in a very serious voice.

"How do you know?" I asked her, still not believing.

"My mother has received notes from him." She said very quietly, so only I could hear.

"Notes?" I asked curiously.

"Yes, that's all I can say, but she believes."

The conversations began to end; girls began leaving in groups, not brave enough to travel through the opera house alone. Meg and I walked back to our rooms. When I reached mine, I began to prepare a light dinner with the limited groceries I keep in my dressing room. As I sat alone in my room I began to think about the Opera Ghost, and if he could be real…

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**Thanks for reading!**


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